


and the drums they go

by upallnightstrungtight



Category: Super Junior
Genre: FWB, M/M, mention of kyuwook
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:49:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24831892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/upallnightstrungtight/pseuds/upallnightstrungtight
Summary: Change can be good, too.
Relationships: Kim Ryeowook/Henry Lau
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> it's his birthday but I'm the one who's happy >:)
> 
> there were a lot of wrong opinions on weekly idol, and I needed a break from the ~60k piece that's almost done (after over four years!!!) so since this has been brewing since the beyond concert anyway, fuck editing, happy birthday!

He knows he should step back and let his very welcome guest in, but he can't help giving Ryeowook a quick up and down.

Typically confident in a sort of matter-of-fact way, the man before him seems strangely diffident, failing to meet his eyes, arms held close to his body and hands tucked into his pockets, so Henry does take that step back and closes the door behind him.

"Ah, it's been... a long time since I've been able to see you."

What, not launching right into flirting either? Curiouser and curiouser still. "You look good," Henry tells him, low and sultry, not hiding a single thing.

"...You really think so? You'd better not be messing with me." The corner of Ryeowook’s mouth purses unhappily, but his eyes, the lift of his brow, those scream of hope.

"A hundred percent serious." What was sharp and beautiful before is now soft and beautiful; Henry itches to touch every bit of skin he can get his hands on, fueling the lust they are both here to sate to burn higher and higher still. He swoops in to kiss the other man without holding anything back, pulling him close, letting him feel all the burgeoning desire that anticipation has transformed into.

Fuck, it's already so _good_. Ryeowook rocks up into the kiss, pressing the length of their bodies together, giving as good as he gets. He _wants_. With a quick nip to Henry's bottom lip, he pulls back, his eyes glazed over.

Now, he's leading the action, pushing Henry onto the couch with the force of his gaze alone. The younger finds himself slipping into that headspace, molding his mind around any sign of what's coming next, yet at the same time, relaxing and trusting Ryeowook completely. Trusting that every desire will be fulfilled. He moves backward with every forward step the other takes, leans back with his knees splayed far apart.

As though it's made for him, Ryeowook fills the space with his presence, his hands conquering the small kingdom of Henry's hips and a handswidth of his waist beneath his button-up where it's been pulled out from his waistband in the process, mapping the terrain he possesses with every glide of his palms up and back down.

Defiant, Henry kisses along the path of Ryeowook's jaw, pressing hard with his lips and his tongue down the column of the other man's neck, careful never to suck on the skin no matter how good the salt-tang of it tastes. A low moan escapes him. Ryeowook pushes his shoulders back, but goes with him, gently threading his fingers into the hair on the back of Henry's head and pushing with his grip to show that he wants the ministrations of his mouth to continue.

The older man is panting harshly now, his remaining grasp on Henry's hip tightening. He'll lose patience soon.

"Fuck, you're so hot," Henry murmurs in English. That and one scrape of his teeth along Ryeowook's collarbone is all it takes before the man in question is sitting up, stripping off their clothes in record time.

His eagerness makes Henry’s cock twitch in a bout of renewed need. "What do you want?" He asks, smoothing over all the soft of Ryeowook's torso, his arms, his thighs, even getting a firm grip on his ass while Ryeowook bites his lip and looks a whole lot like he knows what he wants to say but can't gather up the nerve. Oh god, the added bit of give feels even more amazing than it looked in the nicely fitted white pants that are now in a heap on the floor.

Reluctantly, Henry stops touching him. He lies back against the fabric of his couch, presenting himself like an offering. Maybe that'll help.

It works. "Just stay there," Ryeowook croaks. Henry watches the sway of his hips as he walks the few steps to grab a familiar purple tube out of a nearby drawer. The good stuff, huh? He's not planning on holding back.

And he doesn't. Ryeowook barely takes the time to warm the gel in his hand, hastily slathering it on and positioning himself with ease before sinking down onto his cock. Half biting back a curse, Henry takes a few deep breaths, relaxes his body, and adjusts his knees so he can lever himself back up. The sight only adds to the glimpse of heaven that is the sensation coursing through him, leaving him helpless before it. His loose hold on Ryeowook’s waist does nothing to ground him beneath the other man’s rapid onslaught.

So he teases, just to even things out a bit. “You haven’t been lonely without me, have you?”

A firmer grip to his shoulders and the added power in each drop that joins them fully speaks to the truth of Ryeowook’s feelings about being teased, no matter the annoyance that may creep into his breathless voice. “Of course not,” Ryeowook grits out in the midst of his head thrown back, mouth hanging open, eyelids fluttering. “You’re hardly the- ah! -the only man in my contacts. Mmh... I can always go back to Kyuhyun, too.”

Cutting off any reply, he stops at the base of his motion to steal a sloppy kiss, their tongues sliding along each other’s edges haphazardly, and delivers a squeeze so powerful that for a moment, it doesn’t seem possible to survive how good it feels.

The overload has to go somewhere; Henry sucks on his tongue, drawing out a whimper from his lover that makes him buck up into him. It’s impossible to distinguish the source of any sound just now, everything jumbled together. Chancing the cover of the distraction, he hurriedly wipes off any sweat that may have accumulated on his hands onto the fabric on either side of them before running his hands over Ryeowook’s chest, his stomach, his sides and back, ending on his thighs as another squeeze knocks him off course, trading the pleasure of touch for a more direct one that has him gasping into the other’s mouth, his grip clenching in a silent plea.

Ryeowook pushes himself up and slams back down again. It’s astonishing that either of them can say another word.

“You know how he’s always good for it if it’s convenient for him.”

“So why didn’t you go there instead, hmm?” Instead of throwing off his rhythm, Henry lets the back of his hand smooth a path up the textures of Ryeowook’s inner thigh, knuckles brushing against his balls. Ryeowook _mewls_ at that barely anything of a touch. More would be too much, though. Not yet.

“Because there’s this thing he does...” Once he shifts around a fraction, Ryeowook pauses for nonsense sounds under his breath, a faint shiver running through him as he rocks back and forth, seemingly uncaring of anything else. Henry has just enough presence of mind to move his free arm to Ryeowook’s lower back in order to help him keep his balance. After a few seconds, Ryeowook continues speaking as he slows. “It doesn’t matter what I say or how loud or even if I try begging, he goes at whatever pace he wants. It can be annoying.”

“Sounds kinda hot, too.” The begging is a rare treat. Ah, how Henry misses that sound, the squirming, how Ryeowook flushes with embarrassment that he’s so clearly enjoying...

Here and now, though, Ryeowook makes an annoyed grunt. “Sometimes,” he soon admits without any prodding. “But it’s not what I’m looking for.” He interlaces their fingers together, pinning Henry’s hands to the back of the couch and using that for leverage as he speeds up the rolls of his hips again. “You,” he says breathlessly, “let me do whatever I want.”

“Because I like what you want,” Henry informs him, his voice gone low, straining to get the last word out because Ryeowook chose that moment to lever himself up almost the entire way up, then slam back down onto his cock. Every last nerve ending lights up at each point of contact between them.

Not another word is spoken.

The line of Ryeowook’s neck has grown too tempting not to taste. It’s a stretch to reach, to not throw him off too much, but the groan shifting steadily higher each time it repeats is more than worth the effort. His touch falls away to Henry’s shoulders once more. He must be getting closer.

Henry takes the opportunity to cup his hands around Ryeowook’s hips, giving the exact pressure he wants but not directing his movements, causing Ryeowook to moan outright, his straining to somehow eliminate the distance between them evident in the force he applies wherever their bodies meet.

With every bounce and jolt and _fuck_ , the damned unpredictably-timed purposeful tightening around his cock, accompanied by an unbearably beautiful smirk, being inside Ryeowook is gradually driving Henry crazy. For a brief moment, he ducks to take hold of the other’s nipple between his teeth, applying gentle pressure.

Though he gasps and whines, the older man appears largely unaware of his actions or anything except where he envelops his lover, the muscles of his thighs visibly working towards his target, driven hard by the single-minded desire to meet their mutual need.

Having fulfilled that impulse to hear those noises, to taste shape and texture, Henry moves to more immediate ones, wrapping his hand around Ryeowook’s cock after the briefest few seconds of cupping his balls with a light squeeze. He lets the other man’s own motion provide the friction, sensitive to the timing.

He doesn’t know how long they continue on the precipice. Or what slightest hitch of breath or strain of muscle tells him. Still, he knows by whatever means left in his quickly fading awareness that this is the right moment to tighten his hand around Ryeowook’s cock, stroke him with slow motions that seem a mismatch with the blur of action upon his own.

Between the other's frenzied up and back down, the tight, slick grip inside him, and his short, shallow breaths, it’s a wonder that Ryeowook is the one who falls over the edge first, stilling, his back arching. Every angle and curve and gentle transition between the two is such an overpowering sight, his high moan satisfying a place so deep and primal, that a few short, sharp thrusts up into his lover’s pliant body, with a wrecked groan that his peak pulls out of his throat, is all it takes for Henry to follow.

Still panting, Ryeowook slumps onto him, unheeding of the sticky mess between them. They trade lazy kisses, filing the edges off the sensation on the slope down. Henry doesn’t know which of them is trembling.

He comes down eventually, stretching to get any sore and tired spots once Ryeowook separates their bodies. “Mmmm,” he says, and doesn’t have to explain. However, he _does_ have to force his eyes open, leaving the other man relaxing on the floor as he walks past to warm up some water for the washcloth. (Why the floor in the gap in front of the coffee table? Who knows. But if that’s what he likes, lying like that somewhere between on his stomach and on his side, one knee bent up under him, so be it. The surface is easy to clean.) The thought to rub his shoulders pops into Henry’s head, but he decides to do that later, ‘cause if he kneels down that far now, not a lot of guarantee that his legs’ll get him back up any time soon.

So he does what he originally intended to, giving himself a cursory wipe-down first while the soaked terrycloth is on the comfortable side of too warm, then cleans Ryeowook more thoroughly. He forces his thighs and forearms to push him back up onto the couch, only attempting the aforementioned shoulder rub once Ryeowook joins him. The older man sighs contently, murmuring periodic instructions for a minute before tapping his hand to signal him to stop.

Henry smirks, wrapping his fingers around one of the other man’s wrists to thumb at the sensitive stretch of skin below his palm. “Let me guess, a shower before round two?”

Turning to face him, Ryeowook licks his lips pointedly, his eyelids falling to half mast, staring him down. Readying to devour him - or a specific part of him, anyway.

“You know what I want.”

He’ll get it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame the suspenders

“This probably sounds weird,” Ryeowook says, hiding his face in his hands, more bashful than he’s been in countless years - since their earliest trysts, at the very least, “but, it’s...” He laughs nervously, too. “Because you’re so cute and harmless,” which, Henry wonders if he should be offended by that, “it’s hot to think about you getting a little rough with me. Really just a little, though.” He barely moves his hands aside far enough to ensure that he’s audible when he adds, “Light, but enough to feel, you know what I mean?”

Henry definitely knows.

Offended can go to the back of the line - turned on is having a field day right now. His brain is frantically working in overdrive to call up images and size up his strength, his control, how to finesse it just right and what the options are. He idly runs his tongue over his teeth, but then that gives him another idea, so he doesn’t realize that Ryeowook’s emerged from behind the barrier of his hands to look at him worriedly until a couple of seconds after that.

So he smirks in answer. “Yeah, sounds good. I can-“ He swallows, a delayed second wave hitting him hard, anticipation running down his spine, making his blood sing with it. “I can do that.”

Biting his lip and releasing it, again and again, Ryeowook’s gaze is sultry, pupils blown wide and dark. “Good,” he says, the word hardly a breath, yet holding a powerful intimation of pleasure that he’s going to deliver on. “So that means you can bend me over the couch and fuck me?”

For a fleeting second, Henry has to bite the corner of his mouth _hard_ , except it’s to avoid laughing. The couch is really seeing a lot more action than he expected. But that’s the only part that’s funny. “It’s a promise.” He tries on the words, the low tone, finds it serviceable. He wonders how he’ll know when to take the first step.

Ryeowook looks him up and down once, slow and savoring.

Unfortunately, like all good things, reality gets in the way. He’s caught in that state on the border between laughing and crying for a beat. “Uhhh... Hold on a sec.” He runs off to get the special blanket. The thought of having to get his couch cleaned because of that, even if he _didn’t_ have to detail what kind of stain it was, is positively **mortifying** \- and really, really not in the hot way, either.

A bewildered Ryeowook is staring at him when he gets back, but the older man seems to seems to catch up when Henry triumphantly presents the item in question. “Voila!” As he passes by, he grabs hold of Ryeowook’s hip, giving it a strong but fleeting squeeze to send a message.

The sleek jet-black fabric constrasts elegantly with the white couch; arranged just right, it looks more like decoration, asymmetrical, purposeful.

“Is that what I think it is?” Ryeowook says, his hand resting right above the bend of that same hip, sounding half scolding, half impressed.

“Yep!” Among all the things Henry had never quite expected to say, his next words have gotta be in the top twenty, at minimum. After placing the blanket just so, he pops back up, turning to shoot the other man a self-satisfied grin. “I got a special wa- wait-“ He struggles to recall the translation of the word for a second. “Um, waterproof blanket. You can throw it in the washing machine and it’s fine." He raises his eyebrows, his grin spreading out big and toothy out of sheer joy. This thing was seriously a great find! "Awesome, right?”

Ryeowook smiles fondly at him, indulgence playing across his lips, the curve of his eyes warm. “I almost can’t believe you shelled out for one of these, except that I know you,” he teases.

It’s an old argument, nothing serious, so Henry lets out a friendly laugh. “It’s worth it. Wanna feel?”

Though Ryeowook snorts out a laugh himself, he does take the few short steps over, the sway of his hips emphasized, enticing. He runs two slender fingers over the fabric, then his thumb joins in at the corner, something sensual about his motions. “You’re right,” he says, appreciative and a touch seductive. “It feels quite good.”

Henry clasps his hand over Ryeowook’s shoulder, leaning down to murmur right into his ear. “It will.” Nipping at the sensitive back of Ryeowook’s neck, surprise attacks raining down onto a different spot every time, turns him into gasping, moaning putty in the younger man’s hands, leaving him open for Henry to maneuver his pliant body the way he wants, to swiftly fold him in half over the arm of the couch, one hand pressing unyielding between Ryeowook’s shoulderblades.

Then, Henry _gently_ , with _finesse_ , kicks Ryeowook’s legs apart.

How he **thrills** in the reaction that gets him. Ryeowook curses in a tone that rises and falls, the particular one he has that announces surprised delight. He proceeds to wriggle and push back against Henry, a partial feint at escaping without meaning it, moreso driving him onward. A sort of grunt forces its way out of the younger’s throat, unfitting for the situation and not at all purposeful, but Ryeowook seems to not only take it in stride, but as a cue to roll his hips back as best he can.

“Fuck,” Henry mutters under his breath, having an increasingly hard time staying in the bounds of _a little_ rough, and yanks Ryeowook’s shirt up to his ribs.

With one hand, he scratches faint indents into the other man’s back, while the other deftly unbuttons his jeans. Ryeowook _mewls,_ fingernails scrabbling along the fabric of the nearest couch cushion, the sound distractingly similar to a record scratch. Henry sort of wants to make a joke out of it, except that he’s already hard and aching and has something **much** more important to do.

The teeth of the zipper practically fall away from each other upon the slightest tug to the tab, fitting the hurried, frantic pace. With no effort at all, jeans and underwear alike lie pooled on the floor, _so much_ soft skin exposed to his hungry eyes.

Henry grips Ryeowook’s thighs firmly, still delightfully thick with hidden muscle in addition to the layer of soft he’s got now, to pry them further apart, more tone than any practical matter. The other’s panting is all percussive desire swimming through his veins. His heart has picked up the pace to match; it’s actual agony to to stop touching, stop _savoring_ long enough to pop his own slacks open, but he does it. By sheer luck, he remembers to nab the plastic packet out of his pocket before there’s any risk of slowing the proceedings down further by having the fabric fall out of reach first.

One empty lube packet later, torn open with his teeth, he picks his left hand to be the sticky one to leave him with the most options, slicking himself up in two seconds that feel like forever, firmly smacking the right side of Ryeowook’s ass dead center to distract him from the delay.

The man in question whimpers deliciously, shifting his hips steeper still in invitation.

Oh, he likes _that_. No need for second-guessing. Henry enters him smoothly, watchful enough but keeping up a steady pace. Fantasy can only go so far, after all - this is not the place for pain.

Ryeowook’s long, deep breaths are exactly the opposite of a signal to go ahead, so Henry rests about halfway in, gripping Ryeowook’s hip, along his thigh, the gentle, silken plane of his stomach in turns, digging his fingertips in for the sheer feel of it, pressing velvet swaths into his palm. Through relearning the wonderful textures lighting up his nerve endings, he’s careful not to move too much.

When the intensity of the older man’s breathing abates, Henry goes the rest of the way in, stopping once more when they’re joined fully. The tight heat makes his grip on his earlier thoughts slip dangerously; he presses first the heel of his palm between Ryeowook’s shoulderblades again, rapidly bringing his strength to bear on the pressure point through his whole hand thereafter, but with much less force the second time around, in order to not dislodge the process of acclimating enough to get what they both want.

However many minutes of deep breathing later it comes, one or four or something, a surprising hard squeeze to his cock turns out to be the sign to start moving, followed by an impatient, pleading noise. He half succeeds at biting back a groan; managing that much restraint alone was a monumental effort for the sake of the scenario, or at least, what he understands of it. Still, he needs no further encouragement to slide out and back in, further of each with every stroke, until he’s pistoning into his lover faster than the other man can pant and scream his pleasure from it.

The feedback loop rises higher and higher, tight and slick and _good_ , so **good**. It’d be all too easy to leave aside the other parts requested, this far in, but he prides himself on mutual satisfaction. And he’s damn good at _that_ , too.

Creativity returns for a flash. He pulls the older man’s shirt off the rest of the way, tossing it onto the far end of the couch. There’s just enough hair at the top of Ryeowook’s head with his current style, already messy-gorgeous from being manhandled and fucked, to grab a spread-out fistful and tug softly - sensation, not pain. Henry pairs it with a moderated press of his teeth into the smooth, tempting line of Ryeowook’s shoulder, which gets the other man keening his enjoyment. It’s getting harder and harder to keep any presence of mind, barreling towards completion at lightspeed.

Chancing one more improvisation, Henry grips Ryeowook’s upper arms, hopefully not too hard, though he can’t tell for sure. He can’t tell much of anything because the change in angle overwhelms him, leaving his head spinning. He seems to not be the only one; with the loudest moan yet, Ryeowook’s adjusting himself up, up onto what must be his tiptoes, back arching impossibly further beneath him as his voice crests higher and higher. Their mouths meet in a clash of teeth and tongues for an endless stretch of time, propelled by pure instinct, the sight of Ryeowook’s bitten-red lips when they separate despite his best efforts only spurring Henry to drive into him harder.

He’s losing his mind. He doesn’t know if he’ll make it long enough to-

His fingers end up fanned out over Ryeowook’s chest, the perfect combination of soft and muscle and Henry presses him closer, holds him just _there_ where he needs him. Ryeowook’s half curse turns into a wail that echoes off the walls, and that along with the awareness of his lover’s peak, the sheer erotic knowledge that he _made that happen,_ combined with the heat clamping down around his cock had Henry following mere seconds after with a broken curse of his own.

Whatever happens next is a blur. Once the blanket’s slid off the armest and onto the floor of its own accord, they both take the opportunity to rest on its smooth surface - Ryeowook to use it for its intended purpose, Henry to stay close to him. The two of them trade lazy kisses through the comedown, their tongues sliding along each other’s edges haphazardly, pressing together in an easy tide of ecstasy. By the time he’s completely relaxed, their lips are slipping together slow and messy, and it’s almost a shame to break apart, but he’s needed a sip of water for like five minutes, at this point.

Like a psychic or something, Ryeowook’s rubbing a cramp out of Henry’s admittedly sweaty shoulder before he’s had a chance to articulate it, matching his ministrations on the other side in short order. Henry relaxes into its uncoiling, humming his gratitude, putting it into words once Ryeowook wraps up and lays his head on his lap. Hands him up a nearby water bottle, too.

“What do you think about roleplay?” Ryeowook says, shooting a wicked grin up at him. “If I tell you what to say.”

Perhaps against his better judgment, Henry tilts his head back to gaze up and away, considering.


End file.
